The tracks lead us deep into the forest. Faint outlines of the truck winds through the trees. They were smart enough to stay off the main path, but the dumbasses didn’t grasp the simple fact that a two-ton truck leaves a much more noticeable mark than boots would. Distance won’t save them when their trail is so easy to follow.

The forest stretches for miles and it would be way too easy to be lost in the trees and away from civilization, but Bane and Alastor seem to want to stick close to the only town within a fifty-mile radius.

“You think they’re going to take cover?” Castor asks.

I bark out a laugh. “Probably. You think Bane wants to take a chance in the woods? He’ll piss himself the moment he sees a spider.”

The tracks take a sharp turn, snaking throughout the trees, like they finally got a brain and realized they’d be followed.

A little late for that.

My laugh is cut short when I see the break in the tread, tilting like something threw it off balance. I glance back the way we came, a sense of unease creeping up my spine. Something isn’t right.

Castor stops along the path.

“It continues this way,” he shouts.

I flinch, his voice echoing off the hundreds of trees around us. The sun is just starting to rise, but the trees are still shrouded in darkness, making it impossible to see anything clearly. Or hear.

Then, I freeze. The forest is silent and next to the tracks in front of me is a paw print.

A snort huffs in between the trees and Castor jumps when he and I both notice a grizzly bear ten feet from us, lazily sniffing for food.

I grab Castor tightly as he sucks in a fearful breath.

“Do not make a single sound,” I whisper.

I palm the hilt of my blade, wrapping around the wound leather. This isn’t the first bear I’ve encountered. They were hunted for sport in my hometown. Killing a bear is a prize there, one that I accomplished at the age of fifteen. I never cared about the status it gave me. Trophy hunting is a waste of potential, and hunting bears for sport is the height of stupidity—and often the last mistake a man makes before his skull is crushed.

I earned my title out of survival, not status, and my blade is my trophy. I’m not going to gamble our lives for the sake of another kill.

“We need to take shelter,” I tell him.

Castor follows my lead, backing away slowly. A bear usually won’t attack unless it’s provoked or hungry, but there are a lot of provoking elements in these woods. Bombs, guns, and two idiots who would use both to bait the bear into eating us both.

The trek out of the bear’s sights is slow and each of Castor’s breaths puts me on edge. Just when I thought shit couldn’t get worse, it starts to snow.

The flakes are thick and heavy, tiny little needles stabbing our skin in soft, even flutters. It quickly covers the ground and the tracks soon become indiscernible, along with any visible evidence of our way out.

We lose sight of the bear, but the white flakes land on a mass where it had come from, the white dots covering the large vehicle in seconds to melt off its cleverly concealed camouflage.

Bane’s truck.

“He’s not far.” I turn Castor by his shoulder, pointing down the opposite direction. “Let’s go.”

A roar cuts me off, and the bear snarls, staring us down with a lowered head.

I slip Castor back, placing myself between him and the bear.

It charges.

“Move!” I shout, drawing my gun.

Castor dodges, diving out of the way as I fire. The bullets hit its torso instantly, but the bear is unfazed. I fire again and again until I empty the magazine, but the bear doesn’t stop and I narrowly dodge the claws slashing at me as I leap to the side.

“What the hell do we do?” Castor draws his weapon. “If it’s brown, lay down. If it’s black, fight back, right?”

“That doesn’t mean shit if you’ve shot at it, Castor!” I pull my blade, making a challenging slash at the bear as Castor raises his gun.

“Hang on,” I shout back. “If mine didn’t kill it, yours won’t either.”

I throw my knife, hitting it squarely in the head. The bear doesn’t stop. Instead, it charges again.

“Baron!” Castor shouts, tossing me his gun.

I raise an outstretched arm—too late—as the bear charges and throws me far from our only remaining weapon. Its massive body hovers near me, jaw dripping saliva on top of me and exhaling its putrid breath onto my face, even as I scramble back like a helpless animal. A low growl rumbles in its chest and it charges.

A loud piercing yelp scatters the hiding birds in the trees, followed by the sound of metal clamping on flesh. The bear falls incapacitated inches from my feet, curling in at itself to gnaw at the metal teeth clamped onto one of its hind legs.

A bear trap.

I rub my hand down my face as the bear slashes and roars in desperation. It claws at its foot and finally, I burst into laughter.

“Fucking hell. That’s definitely a way to take down a beast.” I crouch in front of the bear, daring to pet it when its head rests defeatedly on the ground. Even an animal at the top of the food chain knows when it’s beat. Bane is hardly an apex predator but he sure as hell acts like one. I’m almost sad the bear is useless now. I would’ve loved watching Bane and Alastor piss themselves before getting eaten alive.

Better tuck that idea away for later.

Castor approaches, clapping a heavy hand on my shoulder.

“You alright?” I glance back at him.

He shakes his head. “Twelve bullets couldn’t stop that thing, but some metal teeth put it down?”

“That’s why it’s called a bear trap,” I laugh again, patting the bear’s head. Its eyes follow my hand movements with disparity, wondering when I would kill it. A bear is just following instinct. That’s what separates them from people like Bane. A bear would never kill out of jealousy or pleasure. Bane would. That’s why I’d rather have his head mounted on my wall. That is a trophy.

A loud gunshot forces Castor to take cover, dragging me with him while he aims his rifle in the direction it came.

A man appears from the trees, carefully concealed in hunter’s camouflage and a shotgun in his hand.

He moves silently, dark empty eyes scanning right over us like we were pests, before he moves to the dead bear. He snatches my knife from its skull, pulling the hilt towards me.

“Word of advice,” the man says in a gruff German accent. “These do not kill bears.”

I snatch my knife, eyeing each of his movements but he doesn’t seem to care. He props his gun on his side like a toy, shifting his weight between each foot as he regards the dead bear at our feet.

“Thanks. Who the hell are you?” I snap.

“Dietrich.” He extends a hand with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It’s convincing enough, showing up in the middle of nowhere to save the only two people in the middle of nowhere who are being hunted by an army of contract killers.

A perfect coincidence.

Castor gives me a silent look. I fucking hate playing the good boy. I’d rather cut off fingers to get information, but he always insists on doing things the hard way. Or maybe he just enjoys torturing me by forcing me to smile and act like I give a fuck about how long this old man has been hunting in the woods.

Castor’s knowing look turns into a glare and I swallow down the snark that wants to form.

Fine. I’ll be the good boy.

Then I’ll cut off his fingers.

“Baron,” I say, nodding towards my friend. “He’s Castor.”

Castor stands, an instant shift in the air as he extends his hands towards Dietrich with an alarmingly warm smile.

“Thank you,” Castor says with a laugh. “We would’ve been dead without your help.”

Dietrich laughs with him. “I’ve been trying to catch it for a very long time. It’s gotten into my trash, killed my dogs.” He shakes his head. “No one around here has the courage to fight a 200-kilogram bear, especially with no weapons.” He glances back towards me and the urge to take just one finger is almost too high to ignore.

It’s not the first time I’ve killed a bear with my bare hands. It’ll take less to get rid of you.

“We aren’t from around here,” I snap, earning a narrowed glare from Castor.

Fine!

“Thank you,” Castor says again.

Dietrich nods, holding up the shotgun. “You shouldn’t be out here alone in this weather. It’s dangerous in these storms.”

Every word that comes out of the man’s mouth makes me want to rip out his tongue. Does he seriously think the weather is what we give a fuck about right now?

“You seem like you know the area well,” I offer with a forced smile.

Dietrich nods. “I live nearby, in the trees.” He unhooks the trap from the bear’s leg. “You must be cold. Bring the bear to my cabin. You can leave when it’s warmer.”

“We’ll gladly accept,” Castor says before I can cut in. “We should thank Dietrich for his hospitality, right?”

I roll my eyes.

Dietrich motions for us to follow. “Come on then. If you want to earn your stay, you can help me with the bear.”

‘Earn my stay’. It’s been a total of 48 hours since I was able to sink my blade into someone’s eye socket and that’s far too long. Some people might call it an addiction. I call it a hobby. There’s something satisfying about watching the life leave their eyes after I spend hours carving them up, and the longer this man speaks, the thicker his accent becomes and if I have to hear much more of this, I won’t give a fuck if he’s with Acacia or not.

It was easier to haul the bear inside his truck than it was to pretend that I wasn’t fantasizing about pulling his balls out one by one, but by the same fucking miracle that gave us the bear trap also gave me enough restraint to keep the peace.

I help Dietrich carry the bear from his car. It gives me an opportunity to sink my knife into something that isn’t this guy’s throat, and also gives Castor enough time to pull the kill switch on his car.

His cabin isn’t far from the small town we spotted on the way in, tucked away neatly in the woods. He had a lot more than I’d expected a skinny man with a thick accent. The wooden floors were decorated with several patterned rugs, greens and reds shadowed by the nauseatingly intricate designs overtop. An overused brown couch sat off to the side, coupled by a single coffee table and another gun strewn across it. That was the most noticeable part—the thick glass cabinet in the corner sporting dozens of rifles, shotguns and pistols. A bright light illuminated it as if it were on display but none of the guns had even a speck of dust on them.

“Nice truck,” I say with a side glance as I stash the bear into the opposite corner. “Had it long?”

Dietrich wanders through the archway, the clattering of pots and pans sounding before he comes back with a large knife.

“I bought it from a traveler. I like to walk when I hunt.”

Castor speaks before I do. “Been hunting long?”

The man nods. “For many years. I learned from my father.”

I cast a glance towards a well-stocked armory in the corner. “That’s a lot of equipment for a few bears.”

“There’s more than bears in these mountains,” Dietrich laughs.

“Like mountain lions?”

Dietrich nods and my eyes narrow.

“What about people?”

Dietrich’s head shoots up and finally, finally , I catch a glimpse of the man behind the irritating mask. Alarm. Concern. Fear.

“I don’t understand.” He backs away from the bear and it takes all my remaining restraint not to laugh too hard but a toothy smile has enough of an effect.

“Would you like me to clarify?” I unsheathe my knife, the blade catching the light.

Dietrich stumbles back, bumping into Castor, sputtering and stuttering. “Wait, I don’t understand. What do you want?”

“Your truck…” Castor says, stepping closer. “...doesn’t belong to you. The men it does belong to tried to kill us a few hours ago.”

Dietrich takes another step back until he hits the wall. His eyes lock on every movement of Castor’s gun.

Fear is a unique scent. It’s tailored to everyone differently. Helena’s fear was sweet—adrenaline cut straight from her pulse like the cut of a cow and fuck, could I taste it. I savored it, and if I ever get the chance to see that tremble behind her anger, I would do it again. Dietrich’s fear is putrid; a mixture of sweat, piss and blood from where his chattering teeth collided with his lip. This is the fear of a child who wet the bed from a nightmare, and I can be so much worse than the monster under his bed.

“I didn’t know!” he cries. “I-I bought it from a traveler. He didn’t mention people in these woods.”

He curls in on himself when I lean over him and I slam my hand next to his head. Pathetic. I’d expected more from such a good liar.

I drag the flat of my knife down his neck, leaving a thin white line along the artery. “You know, there was a time when people like you thought twice before lying to us.” I press against the artery, the man squeaking like a mouse caught under a man’s boot. My boot. “I’ve done far worse to men who so much as breathed in my direction. So I’ll ask you again, and maybe you can avoid choking on your own tongue when I cut it off. Who are you, and where are the survivors?”

Dietrich raises his hands defensively, his face pale beneath the grime. “My name is Dietrich. I have only lived in these woods my entire life. I don’t know anyone else that was here. He insisted that I take the car!”

I press the blade deeper against his neck. “Who?”

“I don’t know,” Dietrich stammers, his voice trembling. “An older man. He had a shaved head and some hair on his face. He didn’t look dangerous.” He hesitates, then adds, “There was a mark on his face.” He traces a line down his cheek with his finger.

My eyes narrow. I know that mark because I was the one who gave it to him. The same mark as his brother. The mark of a traitor.

“Alastor.”

Castor lowers his gun, his expression shifting from alert to contemplative. “Do you know who we are?”

Dietrich shakes his head, his throat bobbing and bumping against my knife. A second ago, his fear was enjoyable, laughable. Now, it’s just irritating.

“Then you should let it stay that way.” Castor nods towards me and I reluctantly sheath my knife. The metal left an imprint on his skin, a tiny thin line just overtop of his carotid, but it’s not enough to satisfy me yet. I need to cut something.

“What do you plan to do with that?” I nod towards the carcass in the corner.

Dietrich glances at the bear, choking out a shaky breath. “A trophy, in place of my dogs. And to keep me warm.”

I pick up his knife from the floor and offer it to him. “I’ll help you.”

I don’t apologize. Sorry is a useless word. It’s just letters of bullshit used to manipulate and twist their own narrative. If someone has done something to warrant an apology to me, sorry isn’t going to fucking cut it.

It’s a silent few minutes while I help carve into the bear. The hearth in the center of the room basks the room in a deep orange glow, making the remains of the bears blood glisten.

“I have always wanted to help the travelers that come here,” Dietrich says after a moment. “I’ve lived here for twenty years. There was a storm, and it destroyed Lienz. The travelers stopped coming.”

“So why did you stay?” I ask as I carve out a bone.

“This is my home,” Dietrich replies, pulling organs aside with a methodical precision. “I know how to survive without the distractions from the outside. In these mountains, there is no control. God will decide if I live or die. I control myself and surrender to these elements and thank them when they surrender to me.”

I rip out another bone, the tendons snapping in my face. My white blade shines with the lines of red mixed with the fire around us. My grandfather told me that survival is earned. Your life is given to you when you’re born but it’s up to you to prove that you deserve to keep it.

The mountains are a true way to test that.

I stand up, a pile of bones at my feet.

“Think you can handle the rest?” I ask as I wipe my blade.

Dietrich nods. “Keep some of the meat. Wherever you’re going, you’ll need food.”

Castor rises from his place at the window, his eyes on the storm outside. “The storm is going to get worse. We need to head back.”

Dietrich stands as well, disappearing for a moment before returning with a bundle of clothes. “Here… you’ll need to stay warm.”

Castor shakes his head, clutching his scarf as Dietrich hands him another. “Thank you, Dietrich.” He flings the door open, a gust of wind bursting into the cabin and filling it with a biting chill. He marches out into the snow and I follow soon after.

“Dietrich,” I call back. “Don’t help any more strangers.”

Deitrich laughs but it’s hollow. Wary. Good. He should be cautious. Ignorance will get you killed.

I slam the door and any hope of warmth is gone. I shiver, clutching my arms together as the wind whips in my face. The forest is gone, buried under a thick blanket of white and the air filled with static as it blows haphazardly around us.

“Now what?” Castor asks, scanning the blanketed terrain. “We have no trail.”

“We need to wait out the storm,” I shout over the wind. “Bane can’t be far.”

“With any luck, he froze to death.”

I scoff.

When have we ever had that kind of luck?

The entrance to the tunnels is even more impossible to find in the snow. The fence smacked us both in the face when we found the hill. The white rendered it damn near invisible, and my toes feel like they’re two steps from breaking in my own shoes and my fingers stopped feeling two miles ago. Fuck the mines. Fuck Bane. I want to warm up.

Just as I breach the tunnels, a gunshot rings out, through the wind and Castor yanks me back into the dark, immediately returning fire. A chorus of shots rings out against the rock before it crumbles, stifling his screams as he’s buried, only leaving his disturbingly skinny legs sticking out of the rubble and his muffled nasally curses.

Anderson. Of fucking course.

“Out for a walk?” Castor says.

Anderson doesn’t respond, only grunting in pain when Castor yanks him out.

I lean down, pressing my fingers against his pulse. It’s soft, fluttering like the soft tremors of my cracked hands.

Suddenly the feeling in my fingers comes back.

Finally something to play with.